“From what we’ve learned,” Grace said, “they ended up sitting on Rigel, even after Pierce re-created it for them. These guys were smart. They would have realized, at some point, how damned hot the thing was, how much attention it would bring. They decided not to risk it. But there were lots of other things Pierce could make for them. He was a chemical engineer with all sorts of ugly knowledge in his head. Old school nerve-toxins, bio-agents, things that were safer to bring to market.”

“Their definition of safer is different than mine,” Dryden said.

“Anyway,” Grace said, “that’s how it started, and how it went for years. They stayed as low-profile as they could. They were selling very bad stuff all over the world—but only so much, only so often. In time, when those guys started getting old, dying off, Pierce ended up in charge of things. By then he knew the game—he had contacts everywhere in the government, and he knew how to compromise people so they’d work with him. And somewhere along the way, we think he got tired of staying low-profile. A genius like him, he could afford to play the big game. That’s when he became something new.”

“Whiskey Four,” Dryden said.

Grace nodded. “The kind of player who could finally sell Rigel. His baby.”

A long silence followed.

“And none of this is what I came here to tell you,” Grace said. “It’s not the thing you bargained for.”

“No it isn’t,” Danica said.

Grace reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper—a printout. He opened it and handed it to Danica. Dryden came back from the window and read it over her shoulder.

(07-26-1989)

DES MOINES—WARD III—OFFICE OF MEDICAL EXAMINER

NAME: N/A (JANE DOE 1989-07-A)

SEX: F

AGE: 13 (APPROX.)

RACE: C

CAUSE OF DEATH: CRANIAL GSW (FRONTAL / PARIETAL)

FINGERPRINT MATCH: N/A

DENTAL MATCH: N/A

INTERRED: CEDAR BANKS MUNICIPAL CEMETERY, MARKER 1732

Danica held the page for a long moment, then set it gently on the makeshift table.

She said, “And what we discussed?”

“The paperwork is going through now,” Grace said. “We can move her anyplace you decide on. Just let me know.”

Danica’s eyes hadn’t left the printed words.

“We will,” she said.

Long after Grace had gone, they turned off every light in the house. They took a six-pack of Diet Coke from the fridge, and a bag of Ruffles from the counter, and went out through the rear slider in the living room. The back yard lay in pitch darkness.

Two weeks earlier, browsing outdoor furniture in a landscaping shop, they had happened upon something they both loved: a big metal picnic table, its top measuring six feet by six. It looked gaudy as hell, and in no way did it match the Spanish villa; they purchased it on sight.